


I Still Remember The Way You Taste

by herondick



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herondick/pseuds/herondick
Summary: Alastair tries, and fails, to distract himself from thoughts of Thomas.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Thomas Lightwood, Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Kudos: 58





	I Still Remember The Way You Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: all characters belong to Cassandra Clare.

Clank!  
Alastair cursed himself silently as he dropped the dagger for the third time. He was only trying to clean the blasted thing, a task that was very routine to him. But tonight, he was having the hardest time completing it, and he knew why.

Earlier that day, he had been staring out his bedroom window when James and Thomas had walked up. He had barely noticed Cordelia run down the steps to talk with James. He had only been watching Thomas.

The two of them hadn’t stayed long, but it had been long enough for Alastair to notice the little details about Thomas. Like how he had done everything he could to avoid looking up at Alastair’s bedroom window. He had only engaged in friendly conversation with James and Cordelia, nodding his head and laughing. Alastair could see Thomas’s smile, as bright as the sun, and he had felt his heart clench at the sight.

Now, it was hours after Thomas had departed, and Alastair still couldn’t get his wits about him. He had spilt his water at dinner, soaking all of the food around it, causing his mother to get upset and have words with him. He had even almost tripped going up the stairs, as if he weren’t a well-trained Shadowhunter. And now, he couldn’t hold his weapon long enough to clean it.

“Damn you, Thomas Lightwood,” he muttered to himself as he bent down to grab the dagger. It was one of his favorites, with a smooth, bronze hilt inlaid with jewels. He carefully laid it down on his desk, deciding he should just stop trying to distract himself.

Just face it, Alastair, he thought to himself. You’ve gone off and let Thomas get into your head. You’ve got to stop this madness. He walked over to his bed, sat down, and held his head in his hands.

Usually, he wouldn’t let himself dwell too much on thoughts of Thomas, as they only led him down a dark, winding path of sadness. He already had enough going on in his life, with Cordelia’s engagement to James and his father coming home soon, and he didn’t need the extra stress.

But, for tonight, he allowed himself to think.

He laid down on his bed, with his arms spread out on either side of him. He closed his eyes, and behind his lids he could see the lights of Paris, and Thomas’s smiling face. He remembered good food, moving pictures, and walks around the Seine. He could remember showing Thomas around the city, and feeling, for the first time in years, like he wasn’t completely alone.

More recently, he could remember helping Thomas with the cure. There was once instance, during the middle of the whole situation, where he and Thomas had gotten into an argument over the best flavor of candy. It was one of the ways they had distracted themselves from the dire responsibilities of the task they were taking on.

“No, Thomas,” Alastair had said as he opened another book to study. “Cinnamon is the best candy, and you simply will not change my mind.”

Thomas had laughed, shaking his head. “Butterscotch,” he said. “Butterscotch is the best.” Alastair had never actually tasted butterscotch candy, but he wasn’t willing to let Thomas win.

They had continued this friendly argument for a little while longer before Thomas had decided that was enough. “Actually, I happen to have a piece of candy in my pocket,” he said, reaching down and drawing out a piece of candy wrapped in paper. “Try it, and then you can tell me how you feel.”

“Put it in my mouth,” Alastair said, not thinking about the words that came from his mouth. Thomas’s eyes had widened, but he had leaned forward, and popped the piece of candy into Alastair’s mouth, the tips of his fingers grazing Alastair’s tongue.

Now, Alastair had to fight against the tight feeling in his chest at the thought of Thomas’s fingers in his mouth. I still remember the way you taste, he thought. Back when they were searching for the cure, Alastair had thought that, perhaps, he and Thomas could become good friends. Maybe even more than friends.

But now, Thomas hated him, and Alastair didn’t know what he could do to gain his forgiveness. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but he would do anything to get another chance to be close to Thomas, to be able to laugh with him again.

Alastair stared up, unseeing, at the ceiling of his bedroom. He felt numb and hollow, like something essential had been ripped out of him. No, allowing himself to think about Thomas Lightwood wasn’t good for him. It only broke his heart, and Alastair didn’t know how much more his heart could take.

He closed his eyes again, trying to find peace in sleep. He ignored the invading thoughts of Thomas and Paris, cures and candy. He curled up around the pain in his heart, allowing himself to feel it, just for one night.


End file.
